Flashman and the Mountain of Doom: Chapter One
by Anapholes Mosquito
Summary: George McDonald Fraser's 19th Century cad and bounder visits a Chinese Opium Den and wakes in a very strange place just as the Fellowship breaks.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

**Chapter 1:**

I've never taken to the pipe. I don't trust any substance that takes away the decent desire to run away when things are looking rum. So it was with some trepidation, tinged with a lot of desire, that I accepted Berkely's invitation to the Golden Dragon House of Joy in Kensington. I liked Berkely, a rare sort of cove that took after my own heart. He would cheat an honest man whilst taking his lady for a less than chaste game of croquet. He was a big, bluff crook, but a pleasant sort of crook that recognised me as a fellow cad and never seemed to see the need to rat me out.

Of course, there wasn't the least chance I'd introduce him to my own dear Scotch dumpling, Elspeth. I'm an easy going chap, not a fool.

We entered the House and were immediately assaulted by the cloying smoke of the poppy. A few men lay about on chaise-longues, with their heads resting on the laps of Chinese girls, or western girls dolled up to look oriental.

Berkely made his leave and entered one of the pipe rooms. I pottered around for a while. I was enjoying taking in the atmosphere and whilst lighting a cigarette I saw a game of cards going on a side room. I strolled over and asked if I could take a pew. The group murmured assent and I spent a pleasant hour winning, mostly honestly, a few games of canasta.

I lifted my eyes and saw a young girl, dressed in the Chinese style of silk jacket. She was ravishing. Slim, taller than I was used to in an oriental, with black hair. Even though I was on the other side of the room, I could see clear blue eyes that told me of a white daddy somewhere in the bloodline. She caught my eye and I was on fire. She turned and left the room. With as much decorum as I could muster, I made my leave of the table and collected my chips.

Now, dear readers, you will no that I'm not the sort of man who needs to pay for company, but right then I'd have thrown my whole fortune at her for five minutes, perhaps ten, alone with her.

When I left the room, she was leaning against the corridor wall, looking at me all coquettish as if she was a milkmaid instead of a first class doxie. She inclined her head and I followed her up the stairs. I straightened my moustache and though I was still alighting the stairs, I started to loosen my cufflinks. When I reached the top of the stairs, the girl was standing in front of a door. I hardly noticed that the door had some strange designs on it, that didn't look like any kind of Chinese.

If I hadn't been full of lust at that moment, I'd have detected something was wrong. Alas, I didn't. As I approached she pushed open the door and stood in the door way and beckoned me towards her.

I practically growled and reached out for her, meaning to have her before we'd even reached the bed. She had different plans. Plans I curse her and Berkely and my own lust for, to this day. She suddenly stepped to one side and stuck her leg out, I cried out as I tripped, feeling her hands pushing me down.

I fell, but I did not hit the ground. Down and down and down I went into some kind of pit. This is not how I expected to go out, I thought to myself. Though I suspected a lady of pleasure would be involved. After a lifetime of falling (it seemed), I passed out.

When I came to, it was to the sound of screaming. At first I suspected some kind of peeler raid on the House of Joy. I was lying on some kind of carpet. I opened my eyes to find out it was hillside of grass. Figures ran past me down the slope. A lifetime of surviving screaming men told me to stay prone. I saw one of the men run past me and was surprised to see a huge negro in some kind of war mask run past me waving a sword. I heard a horn from further down the slope. Some kind of battle? Where could I be? I was about to get up when a shadow stopped over me. Play dead, old Harry, I thought. By god, the man stank! I was just about to run for it when the horn sounded again and the man's shadow left me.

After a few moments, I risked rolling into the trees to my left. I got up. Seeing no one, but hearing the clash of swords coming from down the hill I started to run up the hill. Not my fight, I thought, no need to be someone black fella's dinner.

I jogged past a broken statue and came to the shore of a lake. Down the beach I could see a child pushing a boat out in to the lake and another child calling out something. The boat was a few feet out when the second figure got into the water and started to thrash towards it.

That's the right idea. I dived in the water and started to swim towards the boat. I don't think the children noticed me, for when I reached the boat, they seemed surprised. Not as shocked as I when I finally clambered aboard to find they were not children at all, but dwarves or white pygmies. Ho-ho, circus performers? Must be out here in the middle of nowhere –where exactly? – and have been attacked by natives. I said halloo and they jabbered in some damn fool language. I know a tongue or two, some fluently, some enough to ask not to be killed, thank ye very much.

I tried all of them and got nowhere. Perhaps they where Hungarian? I tried German but not a word did they understand. Cossacks maybe? Gypsies?

I prefer to be in charge of my own retreats, so I grabbed the oars and powered across the lake. I took a moment to jab at me own chest and say 'Harry'. People are less inclined to kill you if they know your name and I didn't want my throat cut by these gypsies.

The fatter Gypsy, (though they were both pretty portly) prodded himself and said something. I caught 'Sam' and decided that was as good a name as any. The other one, looked forlornly to the east. His mate jabbed his arm and said his name. "Freddy", or some such.

I beached the boat on the far shore, glad to have clear water between me and a battle.  
I looked around. The landscape reminded me of New England, but those definitely weren't redskins running past me. Deuced confusing. Still, you do trip over unusual pockets of geography from time to time. Dunes with palm trees in Devonshire and hills and moors you'd swear on the Good Book were in Yorkshire if you didn't know you were in Australia.

I looked around. Forest in front and lake behind. To the east, the sun was setting and it was made beautiful by pollution. Ah ha, I thought, some kind of industrial town, like Birmingham or Detroit. Bound to be somebody civilized there that speaks English or French. If there was industry, there was bound to be a port somewhere and passage back to Blighty.

How did I get here? I must have been drugged by that minx and brought here. I took a cautious sniff of myself. I didn't smell like I'd been at sea for any length of time. This was some D--d queer business! I was about to suggest going east when the two dwarfs set off in that direction anyway.

Better the company of Gypsies than no one, I thought, and tramped after them.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the second day when I had to sacrifice my waistcoat. The damnable Gypsies had taken me into some horrid maze of sharp rocks and I wrapped my torn article around both my arms. Apart from my hundreds of cuts and grazes, I was irritable from lack of sleep, worried that these ruffians could stab and rob me as I slept.

Add to that the odd sensation that I was being watched. To my surprise, I caught Sam looking upwards and around too and I knew then that he also sensed it. A coward reads the winds and the faces of others. I found myself looking up sharply at some half imagined movements behind me. Perhaps those natives had followed us, hoping to gather a few more slaves or trophies for the pot.

We had stopped. The two midgets were gabbering on. Rather Sam was and Freddy was continuing to be listless. I wondered if he was malarial. I tried not to travel to close to him, just in case. I pulled out my dry (finally!) tobacco and began to fill my pipe. Sam, the fat one, saw me and grabbed Freddy's arm and yammered something. I caught only one word.

"Ah, yes. Gandalf!" I said tapping my pipe, glad to have picked up a word of Hungarian or whatever it was. Freddie actually smiled. He must have liked the smell of pipesmoke or something. It was then that I caught the glimpse of gold around his neck. It was only for a moment, but whatever it was, I wanted to see it again. I shook myself, stood up and hushered the others along. I wanted to be out of this nightmarish landscape as soon as possible.

That night, I slept with my back against the wall of the cliff. I would just have to trust that the pair of them would not rob me during the night. I was in the middle of a peculiar dream consisting of a large red eye with a gold ring around it, when I woke to the sound of screaming. I was up in a flash and had run a few yards before risking a look backwards. I could see one of the Gypsies struggling with somebody. I hid in a crevice and waited for the sound of scuffling to stop. I had heard no gunfire, so I risked, after a good few minutes, returning to our campsite.

When I got back, making signals that I hoped they understood meant I had been looking for other attackers, I found a new addition to our group. A malformed midget was mewling, tied up in rope. It was looking pitifully at me with great big eyes and little sharp teeth. It was obvious that this fellow was also from the same Circus troop that had been attacked by the natives. It was also obvious that they did not get on. I thought this strange as carny folk were meant to be tight knit, but apparently not. I saw Sam kicking the freak when Freddy wasn't looking. Ho Ho, thought I. Not as close as they make out. Good to know.

The next day we continued through the tiresome landscape, with the malformed one being led by a rope around his neck. When it wasn't mewling in discomfort, it appeared to be clearing its throat. Apparently, the complaints irritated my two Gypsies equally as eventually they released him from his leash. I wouldn't have, but I couldn't make myself understood. I know a sneak when I see one, being of that breed myself. I also found the creature repulsive. In the daylight, he definitely had a greenish tinge and the smell of fish and rot hung around him.

I made sure that I walked a few yards behind them just in case the little monster had an ambush prepared. It lead us deeper, (it seemed) into the maze of rocks and cliffs, exhorting us to follow. Eventually, we came to the edge of a huge swamp and we decided to make camp before continuing on. We shared some of the bread the Gypsies had, which was surprisingly filling, and a little morish. Freddy leaned over and in that moment I saw what was around his neck.

It was a ring. Deceptively plain, I swear now that it called to me. Madness, I know, but I wanted that ring and I don't know how I managed to resist snatching it there and then. Suddenly sweating, I took my bread and crawled towards the wall. I could see the little monster also staring at Freddy and I knew he desired it also. I would have to be rid of him as well. I wished I had a knife and even picked up a rock, before realising that I would not be able to cross the swamp without him. I dropped the rock and decided to make a more subtle plan.

I did not have to wait long. Before dawn, the circus freak disappeared into the swamp to find a path, or possibly to fish. The fat Gypsy was sleeping, as was Freddy. We had all got used to Freddy moaning in his sleep, but it was still eerie to listen to. I knew I wouldn't have much time, so I crawled over to Freddy. I was immediately flummoxed. How to get the ring from around his neck? I had nothing to break the chain and trying to move him to remove it would surely wake him.

Just at that moment Freddy stiffened in his sleep and must have caught the ring on a sharp rock causing the chain to snap. Thanking the heavens for such a piece of marvellous luck, I gently picked the ring up and fled into the dark. My sense of direction has always been pretty good and I was fortunate that the moon was out and there was enough light to see the main path.

I followed the way back as fast as I could, not letting go of my precious prize, not daring to open my hand and risk dropping it. After what seemed like hours, I stumbled over the remains of one of our campfires. Good show Flashie! I thought, and continued to run. Of course, even an experienced coward cannot run forever and I found a nook to rest in far enough off the trail to be missed, I hoped. As I fell asleep, I thought I heard two voices screaming in the East.

I woke up cold, but the ring gave me a warm feeling. I got up and slowly moved back the way I came. Seeing no sound, nor smelling the circus freak, I continued to run the way we came. I wanted to run eastwards towards the rising sun, but another part of me made me stagger ever west, ever west.

Tired, but glad to be still alive, I found the waterfall and climbed up the cliff. Looking behind me, I could see no pursuit, but I was sure they would be chasing me, trying to steal the ring back. Maybe they are in front of me? I ducked behind a rock to look at my treasure. I slipped it on and entered a nightmare.

The world dissolved into cold flame. A giant eye in the East latched onto me and I could hear it talking to me, demanding I turn east. I took the ring off and clutched it to my chest. So many things wanted my ring. It was my ring! I stuffed it into my waistcoat pocket and made sure it was secure before climbing the rest of the way.

At the top of the hill, I was surprised by the last thing I expected to see. A man, smoking a pipe, in full English tweeds was making notes in a little red book.

"Hullo!" I said, more out of surprise than from a need to greet him. He looked up and said in an accent with a trace of the Black Country;

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

I was taken aback and almost fell down the cliff face. I mumbled something about an Opium den and being pressganged. He frowned and closed his book.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Where's here?"

"You don't know?" He held up his hand. "Stupid question, of course you don't." He tapped his pipe on the side of a broken statue. He sighed.

"Since I have got a clue how you got here, I can't really tell you how to get home."

What was the blithering idiot talking about? I repeated my question again. He shrugged and said that I wouldn't believe him. I got up and moved towards him.

"Look here…"

"Hush now," he said in a kindly voice. "If I told you, you'd think I was mad. If you believed me and told others, they'd think you were mad. Best not to say then, heh?"

He looked up to the sky and packed his book into a little rucksack and peered to the east.

"I have to be going. They can see me, you know."

The man was clearly dotty, but at least he could speak English. It was then I noticed that I could see through him as if he was fading away. I rubbed my eyes, but he was even more faint than before.

"Don't leave me here, for God's sake!" I couldn't keep the panic out of my voice.

"Head for the north by north west from here. You won't understand the languages, but the people are friendly and are used to strange looking folk. Stop off in Gondor on the way. Nice food, not too spicy. Oh, I wouldn't stay there too long though. Be seeing you!"

With that he was gone. Looking wildly about. This must be part of an Opium dream. Of course, how could I not realise this before. That little Chinese hussy must have drugged me. I was probably being robbed as I stood here. Well, there was nothing to do but wait for it to finish.

Still, the sense of danger I felt was real enough and, remembering the scratches and cuts I had received in the rocky maze, I knew I could feel real pain, dream or not. Cricking my neck, I marched into the nearby forest.


	3. Chapter 3

I tried to keep the Englishman's directions in my head and aim for what was north by northwest, but something was making me long to go East. Often I would find myself, whenever I lost a little concentration, straying from the route I had planned. I assume it was the opium playing merry hell with my sense of direction or some such.

Luckily, it appeared to be autumn so there was a lot of fruit on the trees so I didn't go hungry while I travelled, though I would have killed for a slice of roast beef and gravy. The landscape was still rocky, which gave plenty of places to shelter and I was fortunate not to bump into bears or wolves during that unwanted trek.

My dreams were still troubled, but as I knew them to be drug fuelled fantasies I could relax through most of them, though I could not entirely shake the sense of menace that came with them. I'm not a superstitious ninny, but I would have gladly visited some crone to check me for hexes.

I had seen no sign of any civilization so I came to suspect I was in the United States. The Black fellows where obviously escaped slaves. 'Gondor' sounds like one of the silly names they give their wilder settlements. How I got to America in the same clothes as at the House of Joy (and clean) still did not make sense to me, but I must have been press-ganged. Having sorted most of the facts of my present predicament into some sort of rational order, I put out the small campfire I had lit and exited the woods.

--

I didn't feel entirely comfortable in the open. I couldn't stick in the woods and live like a wildman. I'm a creature of civilization and to get there I was going have risk crossing this open expanse.

I walked for about half a day when I heard hoof beats. At first I thought they were the rumblings of an empty stomach or the heartbeat of a nervous but isolated individual, but then I saw the cloud of dust in the west. U.S Calvary (or Plains Indians, but I'd experience of both and knew they white men would only be slightly less barbaric than the natives).

At first I couldn't understand why there were glints of light coming from the riders – surely even Americans didn't wear all their medals on patrol? Imagine my surprise on their closing that they were not US cavalry at all (or at least not US cavalry in their standard blues). I was soon surrounded by a lot of very big men on horses, in full armour and pointing very sharp lances at me. A bit of overkill, I thought, but one doesn't argue with this many weapons.

One of them grunted something at me. I introduced myself with a liberal use of pointing at my chest. They chummered in what sounded a bit like German, but wasn't and I only caught one word: 'Oysterlong.', which is what they seemed to decide was my name. I tried to introduce myself in German, but their faces looked as sweaty and blank has they had before.  
Before I had time to protest, one of the ruffians had picked my up by the scruff of the neck and draped me over the front of his saddle. I'm not a small man and I fought for a second or two until I felt something sharp prick the nape of my neck. I sighed and relaxed. It was not comfortable, but it was better than walking.

--

Somehow I managed to nod off. One grabs sleep where one can and they obviously weren't going to kill me while we travelled. I awoke on landing on the ground heavily. My ribs and stomach hurt like a swine, but I was alive with these barbarians – and I had almost given up trying to work out where I was – Northern Europe? Maybe Laplanders, I'd heard they were a little backward, though that didn't fit with the escaped black slaves. Who knows, maybe Lapps kept slaves too?

I was dragged to some large primitive wooden house where the chief lived. I'm no medical man, but he wasn't looking too good. About ninety if he was a day and looking a little fusty. Over his shoulder, whispering, was a first class cad. Oh, I didn't know him then, but I can tell one a mile off and if he wasn't the blackguard I thought he was, then I'm losing my touch.

He was short and swarthy, nothing like the great hulks who had brought me in, dressed in black and hovering over the chief like a bad cold. The brute who brought me in shouted something which sounded ruder than their usual grunting and the little man hissed at him. The chief croaked something and the man who had brought me here spun on his heels with something like disgust and marched out with the rest of his brigands.

The creep left the side of his master and came over to me. I swear he sniffed me. He whispered something in a language even rougher than that of the riders and when I did not respond he tried a couple of other languages (I presumed) before hissing in disgust.

A woman's voice, harsh, but commanding, sang through the hall and the little man flinched and crawled behind his chief, giggling. I turned to the voice and was treated to a pleasant sight. A ravishing, haughty blonde of the German type was looking at me. Hello, I thought, every cloud and all that.

I introduced myself again and this one - brighter than the others - caught on immediately.

"Harreh Flasherman ze Oysterlong" she said, well close enough I thought.

"Eowen' she said gently pointing at her bosom, her heaving bosom, her well… I dragged myself back. I wanted to grab her right there but self preservation comes first and she was the first remotely friendly and possible sane face I'd seen since the opium den. Also, I didn't want that twinkle in her eyes to disappear just yet.


End file.
